Sonnet 21 (Sonnets, 1833)

Love is but folly, — since the wisest love,
Itself disclaiming, would invent a use
For its free motion. — Penitents recluse,
That scarce allow the natural heart to move,
With amorous ditties woo the mystic dove,
Or fondly bid their heavenly Spouse unloose
Their sacred zones. — The politic excuse
Of worldlings would to worldly ends improve
The gentle madness. — Courtiers glibly preach
How Love and Woman best rehearse the play
That statesmen act. — The grave fine-spoken leech
Counts how the beatings of the pulse betray
The sweet disease. — And all the poets teach
That love alone can build the lofty lay.